


Til Death do Us Part

by IRL_OrionPax



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, BUT it could happen, Heavy Angst, I don't, M/M, No Spoilers, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Serious Illness, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Slow Burn, also, because it's not just gonna be the illness, drawn-out illness, i won't be leaving out details for sake of making it easier to read, is this gonna have a happy ending?? who knows, let's fix that, not to mention that for being alive for millenia, please read at your own caution, serious angst, shall we?, so this one is gonna get hard, someone might die, tags to be changed upon updating, they are HORRIBLE at communicating, they think they have ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD, this is gonna fuck everyone up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IRL_OrionPax/pseuds/IRL_OrionPax
Summary: Aziraphale walks in one day to find Crowley puking his guts out over the small toilet in the bookshop. Demons and angels, even in their corporeal bodies, can't get sick. It would cut down on work time if all the ethereal and occult forces could catch a cold, or god forbid, something WORSE. But there he is. When Crowley admits to feeling unwell for several months and it's only getting worse, they have to figure out who did this, how, and why, and most importantly, how to cure Crowley.





	1. I don't want you to worry|I'm Going to Worry

**Author's Note:**

> I have a good chunk of the story written already, so expect semi-regular updates, given that life is kind. Comments are lovely, as are kudos! Thanks for reading, and enjoy~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short little first chapter! the other ones should be a little longer. enjoy!

“Crowley, dearest, are you all right?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, of course Aziraphale had to show up at the exact moment I’m puking my guts out. I raise my head to try and answer, but what comes out instead is just more vomit. When I’m done, I lean over the toilet seat, needing to catch my breath. 

I can feel him hovering just over my shoulder. “Crowley, what on earth is going on? Are you... are you ill?”

Shakily, I stand up and flush. Aziraphale extends a hand to help, but I wave him off. I’m fine. “Nah, nah, nah. Just had a little too much to drink and didn’t sober up quick enough, is all.” I flash him a smile. “I’ll be alright.” Oh, please buy it. Please.

The uneasy look doesn’t leave his eyes, but he says, “Very well, but don’t let it happen again. You must take better care of yourself, Crowley.”

I hang my head in contrition. “Yeah, yeah, I will. What do you say to lunch?”

He gives me a sideways glance. Probably wondering about the sudden topic change. “Are you certain you should eat so soon after… well…” he trails off, gesturing at the toilet.

I give him another winning smile. “I’m positive. After that, i’m absolutely ravenous.”

“Lunch would be fine, then.” He smiles then, and takes my hand. He’s been doing that an awful lot lately, along with a bunch of other touchy-feely angel goo. I don’t mind it so much. It makes him happy, so I let him do it. Still, i can’t help but notice the concerna in his eyes never quite leaves, even as we walk to the corner cafe, sit down, and eat our lunch, talking about a new set of books he recently got into the shop.

It’s not as if he’s any reason to be worried. I’m perfectly fine. Oh, sure, demons don’t usually vomit, but I’ve been feeling a tad off the past couple of months anyways. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll work itself out.

My stomach starts churning again, not long after the first bite of waffle. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I’ll be damned -- blessed? -- if I make aziraphale worry before I have a way to fix it. 

\--

I’m worried for Crowley. He’s not eating or drinking. He’s never enjoyed food quite the way i have, but he’ll usually have a biscuit with his tea, or small tart, or something. Recently though, he’s been refusing any food or drink at all, including alcohol. He says he’s trying to “live cleanly”, but that’s never mattered to him before and I don’t see why it should now. He’s also sleeping quite a lot, even for him. Then there’s the business with the, ah, sick. I’m certain something’s wrong, probably has been for at least three or four months.

The problem is, he won’t speak to me about it. I’ve not brought it up outright, but I have tried to make subtle little hints, to see if he lets anything slip. Perhaps that’s not very angelic of me, but he certainly wouldn’t be pleased if i just asked him to his face. He always says, “I’m fine, Aziraphale,” “Just a bit sleepy,” “I haven’t heard anything from head office, Angel, stop worrying,” and it’s positively driving me mad! I want to help, and he won’t let me!

I’m rearranging some books near the back of the shop when I hear the bell jingle above the door. I feel crowley’s presence straightaway and go to greet him. As I’m walking up, he collapses. 

My breath becomes short and shallow. I rush over to him. Check his breath. He’s breathing, thank god. I release the exhale I didn’t realize I was holding. My heart is pounding in my ears. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think. I was right. Something is terribly wrong. 

I pick him up and decide to lay him down on the small couch in back of the shop. I impulsively press a kiss to his forehead. I think of praying, but things didn’t work out so well for me the last time i attempted communication with the almighty. I simply sit at his side, stroking his hand and waiting.

“Please let him be alright,” I ask of nobody in particular. “Just please let him be all right.”


	2. Tell me Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale won't let Crowley bullshit him anymore. Crowley can't keep holding it in.

First thing that registers is my pounding headache. Next thing is, I’m laying down. I open my eyes and see him hovering over me, forehead creased with worry. “Angel? what happened?”

He’s holding my hand. I don’t think he notices. “I was rather hoping you could tell me.”

“No, I mean, why am I on your couch? I walked into the shop, and next thing I know I’m here, with you looking like someone might drown your puppy.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it’s too harsh. He draws back, clearly hurt. Shit.

“I was concerned about you. First there was that incident the other day, and now you collapse in my doorway! Crowley, please, whatever’s going on, you can tell me.” the grip on my hand tightens.

I might be able to save this. He doesn’t need to worry like this. Not until I know how to beat it. “I’ll be fine, just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“Crowley!” His voice is suddenly stern. I can’t quite look him in the eyes. Wish I had my sunglasses on, but he took them off and I don’t know where they are. “I’ve known there’s something wrong for *months* now. *tell me what’s going on.*”

Fuck, was I that bad at hiding it? I take a deep breath and admit, “I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather, but I’m sure it’s nothing. It’ll pass, I’m sure.” I try for a smile, but it feels wrong, so I drop it.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice is gentle, but firm. “We are incorporeal beings. Even in these forms, we do not feel ‘under the weather’. We don’t *vomit*. Something is wrong. Let me help you through it.”

“Whatever it is, i can handle it.” I don’t need his help. Don’t need his worry, either. I’m *fine*.

He leans in, eyes intent on mine. I look away. “Crowley, please. We’re friends. You said so yourself. Friends help one another. Let me help,” he repeats, his voice low and, of all things, *gentle*. Maybe even… *caring*. I really don’t know how to handle that.

I force myself to look at him then. His eyes are pleading, concerned, and I know he’ll only feel better if I agree to let him “help”. Not sure what he can really do, but I say, “Oh, alright, fine, but I’m telling you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Well then, there’s no reason to be worried about my getting involved, is there? On the other hand, if this is something… more serious, we’ll be able to face it. Together.” the corners of his mouth relaxed, and it was like sunlight peeking through a smoky sky. My own face instinctively relaxed to mirror it. “Tell me everything,” he insists. He’s still holding my hand. It’s warm and somehow comforting. I resist the compulsion to yank it away. 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe telling him is for the better. After all, if he’s noticed all this time, maybe it would be cruel to leave him in the dark, so to speak. I don’t want to be cruel to him. “I don’t really know what’s going on,” I start, “but I can tell you what’s been happening to me.” 

“Go on,” he urges.

\--

“Go on,” I urge him. 

He shifts around and tries to sit up, but grabs his head and lowers himself back down. 

I lean forward, searching his face. “Darling?”

He waves a hand at me, his eyes squeezed shut. “‘S nothing, Angel, just dizzy. D’you have my sunglasses?”

“Yes! Yes, they’re right here.” I grab them off a small table to my right and press them into his hand. He puts them on, and I’m a little sad to see his beautiful eyes obscured by those… glasses. 

I can’t remember exactly when I gave myself permission to use that sort of adjective for Crowley. Over time, I simply couldn’t think of others. He’s clever, kind, and beautiful, and I know it even if he doesn’t. He certainly has his many faults, but I’ve come to appreciate them, too, as part of who he is

He shifts again, and folds his arms. “So, what’s been happening, then?” he asks. His tone tells me he doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he continues anyway. “It started, oh, six or seven months ago.”

Six or seven months? Had I really been that oblivious? I nod for him to keep going.

“It started with these little… flash headaches. My head would just hurt suddenly for a couple of seconds and then be fine again. It was weird, but I didn’t think too much of it. Might just have been side effects from the swap, y’know? So I ignored it.” He started slowly, hesitantly, but with each word, more and more tumbles out, one thing after the other, as if that first sentence were a dam that broke on everything he’s been wanting to say. 

“Then, I started feeling sick at my stomach whenever I ate or drank anything. This whole time, simple activities are getting more and more tiring, and I have no idea WHY, I don’t know what’s going on, and I didn’t want to worry you, because you don’t deserve my problems, and --” He stops suddenly, seeming to realize he was saying quite a bit. I nudge his hand. His face is harder to read because of the glasses, but I think he also realizes exactly what he’s said, and I see the reality of it sink in. I’m fairly sure he’s been denying the gravity of the situation even to himself. 

He turns to look at me, and there’s fear etched into his face. He swallows hard. “The-- the headaches started getting worse, and then I started getting dizzy. Just a little bit at first, then enough to make my head spin. Today is the worst it’s been. I’m… I’m sorry, Angel. I don’t know how to fix this.” His head turns toward the floor, and he curls in on himself ever so slightly.

I give into my urge to cup his face in my hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes, almost leaning into my hand. I gingerly stroke his cheek with my thumb, and I can just see his eyes close behind the glasses. “We will figure this out,” I promise him, “Together.” I nudge his chin upwards, and he looks at me. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here. You won’t be alone. I swear it.”

He nods slowly and doesn’t look away. Then I see his face soften, mouth turning upwards ever so slightly, and my own face breaks into a relieved smile. Then he does something I never would’ve expected. He puts his hand over mine, turning his head to kiss my palm. When he does, I suddenly feel love, so much it takes my breath away. I knew he tolerated my presence, maybe even cared for me in his way, but I wasn’t at all expecting *this*. I look at him, stunned, and his cheeks actually turn the slightest bit red. 

I grab his free hand with mine and slowly bring it to my lips, asking a question without saying anything. He moves his hand in mine closer to my face, and I kiss his knuckles. I place his hand in my lap, and he still doesn’t complain. We sit like this for some time, silently comforting one another. 

A small voice in my head asks me what happens if we can’t “figure it out?” What happens if Crowley… I refuse to finish the thought. Absolutely not. We beat the Apocalypse, we can beat this. We have to. There is no other option.

But what if we don’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying so far, a comment or kudos are greatly appreciated!


	3. Shit Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's symptoms get worse, Aziraphale tries to help

It’s been one month since I told Aziraphale about this… weird illness. I’ve been spending most of my time in his shop, since if I’m not there, he’s calling me every twenty minutes. I’ve moved my most sensitive plants into the bookshop. Haven’t had much energy for yelling, and Aziraphale’s gotten into this nasty habit of being nice to them. I still manage to intimidate, though. They will grow beautifully here, or they will no longer exist. 

We haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on, where this came from, or why it’s happening. We went to visit Anathema, wondering if she had any ideas. Nothing. I’m almost considering calling Below. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort. He and I don’t talk about it much, unless we’re talking about possible reasons or treatments. I’ve noticed, though, that he stands closer to me than ever, holding my hand or rubbing my back. 

There’s been no repeat of that night on the couch. I don’t know if I want there to be. It made me feel something that almost *hurt* to feel. It’s something I’m not supposed to feel. It was warm and soft, gentle and comforting. It was beautiful and terrifying. It wasn’t the first time I’ve felt it, I used to be an angel, after all. Since I Fell, the only one who can make me feel it is Aziraphale. That night was the first time I’ve been completely unable to do anything about it but face it and feel it. Usually I can talk myself out of it, say it’s all just part of the Arrangement. I’ve known how he makes me feel for eons now, but I could never do anything with them. Sure, everything’s different now, and I don’t have to do what I’m “supposed” to, but… I can’t take that risk. No reason putting all that on Aziraphale. Not… not now.

I’ve finally admitted to myself that I’m… worried. Maybe a tiny bit scared. Everything’s been getting slowly worse. I’m up to a bad dizzy spell at least once every couple days, I still don’t dare eat or drink, and I’m sleeping for around twelve hours a day. Problem is, those are just the problems I’ve told Aziraphale about. I’ve kept the worst part to myself, because maybe if we find… something… I won’t have to break the news that I might be dying. Not discorporating. I’ve felt my essence, my strength, my *self*, just draining away. It’s almost too subtle to notice under all the physical problems, but it’s there. There’s nothing Aziraphale could do for that, so I’ve kept shut. Thankfully, there haven’t been any new symptoms to add to my torture.

Until right bloody now. I’ve been feeling really warm all day. Normally, I’m freezing. Comes with being a demon. I didn’t mention it to Aziraphale because I thought it might go away. Don’t know why, it’s not like anything else has. He left this morning to go to a meeting about some old set of books he’s been wanting. I waved him on, told him to go, I’d be fine. I’d probably just have a nap ‘til he got back. 

Instead, I’m curled up on his couch, folding in on myself because the pain shooting through my chest and arms and stomach and hips and legs is more than I can bear. I haven’t felt pain like this since… since I Fell. I’m grinding my teeth together to try and stop myself from crying out, but it just comes in waves and I can’t stop what just comes out of my throat without my fucking permission. Burning from the inside out. The thoughts beat at my skull, giving me a throbbing headache: Disappointment. Failure. Unworthy. Unforgivable. Evil. Disgusting. Hideous.

Dimly, I hear someone sobbing. Odd. I’m alone. It must be Aziraphale. I scared him. My head feels so foggy. I can’t think. The pain is so bad. I’m not in the bookshop anymore. I’m back there. I see Hell as it was in the beginning, fire and sulfur and poison at every turn. It was so dark. It is so dark. I experience nightmare after nightmare. Aziraphale, burning alive in Hellfire (I couldn’t save him). Aziraphale Falling (I couldn’t save him). Aziraphale ending up with whatever this is (I couldn’t save him). The Fall (Couldn’t cut it). The War that might still happen (Hopeless). Over and over and over they go, and I can’t figure out how to escape.

\--

The ringing goes on and on. He isn’t picking up. My heart sinks deeper with every passing ring. He’s never failed to answer a phone call from me, especially not since this all started. I worry, and he knows that. The noise of his phone will wake him if he’s asleep, at which point I simply let him go back to bed. I hear the voicemail message, and it feels like someone sucked the air right out of my lungs. “This is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.” I quicken my pace. I must get home straightaway. Something is wrong. I duck out of sight and miracle myself home.

He’s been distant lately, shielded in a way I’ve not felt from him since before Shakespeare. It’s as if he’s afraid to get close to me, which frightens me. There’s no reason for him to be guarded in this way unless he’s afraid of something. That must mean he knows more than he’s told me. I know he tries to protect me, but this-- this not knowing is more horrible than knowing would be.

I snap open the door, snapping it locked behind me. I call, “Crowley? Crowley? Crowley, please, answer me!” I hear a soft moan, and it hits me like a wave. Pain. So much pain. I double over at first, then straighten up and rush to his side. 

He’s flushed, sweaty, his face a mask of fear and misery despite his eyes being squeezed shut. His breathing is short and shallow. He’s twitching, sometimes thrashing about. I reach out and attempt to soothe his physical pain. I feel the excessive heat begin to leech away, and the flush on his body goes back to normal. Crowley’s movements gradually still until his head is the only thing moving. Jerking back and forth as if pulled on a string. He’s clearly having a terrible nightmare, something I’ve only seen humans have. I send my love and comfort to try and soothe the terror coming off him in waves. It doesn’t work, somehow. His fear spikes, and he snaps awake.

“Aziraphale? Wh-- what’re you doing here?” his voice is slightly slurred and mumbly, his eyes half squinted shut. He looks at me for a moment. “Thought you had a book deal.”

I shift in my seat, taking his hand. He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. “I called you, and you didn’t answer. I was worried.”

He didn’t quite meet my eyes, looking from the floor to the wall. “I was burning,” he admits, “and it reminded me of… of back then.”

I stroke my thumb along his hand, wanting to offer comfort. He relaxes back into the pillows. “‘’M exhausted,” he tells me, blinking slowly.

“Go on to sleep, dearest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He sleeps then, breathing returned to normal. I sit and watch him, holding on to his hand and praying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying, let me know by commenting or leaving kudos! If you want to help inflate my ego, you can also share the link to this fic on your tumblr or twitter (or wherever you hang out socially)!


	4. We're Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds out what's happening to Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was one that I've been wanting to get to. Sorry it's so short, I'll go back to the usual chapter length soon! Enjoy the brief appearance of Anathema~

We’ve begun keeping fever pills on-hand at all times, as well as nausea medication so I can drink water. I’ve been getting dehydrated, somehow. I don’t know why the pills work. They shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be getting a fever in the first fucking place, but that’s what I’ve got. How do humans stand this? I’ve seen them, going about their business, while their bodies are overheating! I’m sitting, waiting for the pill to kick in, and wondering how on earth humans ever got used to this.

Aziraphale’s out again, tracking down a possible clue he found in one of his occult books. He didn’t want to leave me, but I finally convinced him to go when I reminded him that this is our one lead on what’s happening to me. He left me with my phone, a whole pitcher of water, some pills, and repeated instructions to call him, “the moment, dear boy, the moment you feel anything worsen!”

In the book, we found that some spells can, in fact, suck the literal life force out of a demon and give it to whoever’s using the spell. He’s taken the book to Anathema to see if she can help him find the bastard. Or bitch. Or fucking asswipe. Whatever word fits best. He wanted to go to Shadwell, but I reminded him that Shadwell retired after the whole end-of-the-world nonsense.

I decide to get up and water my plants. They need it. I stand up, and the dizziness hits. I sit back down. Nothing to do now but wait. I’m so fucking sick of waiting.

\--

“So, you see, we must find whomever is responsible for this,” I say, the book I found open in front of me.

Anathema pulls it closer and studies it for a moment. I study her face, unsure what I’m trying to find. She looks up at me. “I think, if I study this spell, I could hone in on its energies and find its source. Maybe. It’s a fairly short-range spell, so whoever’s doing this has to be relatively close-by.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Oh, oh could you?”

She puts her hand on my arm. “I’ve got this.”

Two hours later, we’re standing in a field just outside london. The forest is so thick here that we can’t see any buildings or roads save for the path that brought us. Nobody else is here. “I don’t understand,” Anathema tells me. “My readings are all saying the spell is coming from here, but I don’t see anyone or anything that could be generating--” 

“Miss Device?” I turn around, and she’s gone. In her place is a humanoid shape, about five feet tall. It’s wearing a wooden mask and a long cloak.

“Who are you?” I ask it. “What do you want?”

“I should ask you the same question,” they say, their voice low and grating. The barest hint of laughter accents their words. “But I know the answers already. You’re an Angel, whose Demon is dying a slow, painful death.”

I feel like my heart has just dropped to my shoes. So it’s true. “You stop what you’re doing to him, or I’ll--”

Puffs of laughter exit the mask, and I swear I smell sulfur. “You’ll what? You’ll do what I tell you, that’s what. Angel, miracle-giving angel, you will bless me. Not just once. Repeatedly. When I am through with you, I will heal your friend.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You're bluffing! Humans can't kill demons, that's pure fiction!”

“I can, and I will. And he won't be able to come back. Listen, how hard can it be? Make me rich and powerful, and your boyfriend lives. Fuck me over, and he won’t make it to the end of the year. Got it?” Before I can answer, she adds, “oh, and one more thing: You can’t tell him, or anyone. This is just between you and me.”

I swallow. I’ll figure something out. I must. For now, though, I agree. I see no other option. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Shake.”

I reach out my hand. They clasp it in a glove that’s cold, nod once, and vanish. Anathema reappears, the same place she was before.

“--this kind of power.” She sees me, and her face changes. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

I force a smile. I’ve never been good at lying. I’m an angel, I’m not supposed to lie. “Nothing at all, my dear. It’s quite alright. I’m feeling a touch worried about Crowley, so I think I’ll be heading back to my bookshop. Perhaps it’s best you do the same.” I walk away before she can reply.

We’re fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos honestly make me so happy to read every day, and I appreciate everyone who's left them so far!


	5. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets fed up, and Aziraphale is there to comfort him

Before he left this morning, Aziraphale left a note. It reads, “Remember to take your 12:00 medications, dear. -- A”

Looking at that note pisses me off. Sure, I’ve been a touch forgetful lately, but I don’t need to be babysat. I must’ve been sleepwalking during that last incident. Why would I just walk out of the bookshop stark naked? That doesn’t make any sense to me. Some part of me realizes I should be worried about this, but instead I’m just angry.

The longer I sit and wait, the angrier I get. This was supposed to be the easy part. We were supposed to be able to live in peace now, unbothered by any interference from our head offices. Instead, I’m sitting here, dizzy, tired, and achy, unable to do anything besides SIT and WAIT while he goes into possible danger to try and save my worthless carcass. I can feel the anger going through me like an electric current. I stand up, dizziness be damned, and head to the plant room. I can’t sit on my ass for one more fucking second.

I get to the room, and the plants look pathetic. I can’t stand the sight of them. “You lot are ABSOLUTELY USELESS!” I scream at them. I pick one up and examine it. It has a spot. I see red. “*You*,” I glare at it. My hand is shaking. “YOU FAILURE!” I throw the pot against the wall with all my strength and it shatters into a hundred pieces on impact, bits of clay and dirt flying everywhere. Huh. Satisfying. I pick up another one. “After all he’s done for you--” I smash it to the floor “-- And you STILL can’t cut it!!” I grab a standing plant and topple it. “You SIT HERE, and TAKE HIS TIME,” I throw another plant. I barely feel something cut into my foot. I ignore it. “AND YOU STILL CAN’T GROW PROPERLY!” I start screaming then, grabbing pots and leaves and clumps of dirt, whatever I can get my hands on, tearing and smashing.

“CROWLEY?” I look up, a wad of broken pottery clenched in my fist. He’s standing in the doorway, mouth agape, eyes wide and (oh fuck, no), a little scared, staring at me. “Crowley, what on *Earth* are you doing?!”

I relax my hand, and all the fight leaves me. I feel foggy-headed. I look around. Why are my destroyed? Why does Aziraphale have that look on his face? Did… Did I do all this? I start swaying on my feet. “Angel? Wh--What… What happened?” I feel myself start to fall.

Then he’s there, supporting me in his arms, and despite my confusion, I’m grateful to him. “I’m sorry,” I begin, “I don’t know what got into me.”

He fixes me with that look, that gaze full of care and concern. He still looks shaken, but that expression dominates his face. “Shush now, it’s nothing I can’t clean up.” He starts leading me out of the room.

“But… I should…” I lean over to start picking things up, and he stops me.

“None of that. Right now, all you should be doing is resting.”

I don’t have the energy or mental wherewithal to argue, so I just nod and let him lead me back to the couch.

I look at his face. He looks how I feel, scared of what I did and worried about what this means. I can’t stand hurting him. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, “I’m so sorry.” I’m not just apologizing for the plants anymore. My voice gets choked as tears fill my eyes. “Angel, I’m sorry.” I’m a helpless demon draining the life out of this beautiful angel, and I can’t fucking stand it.

\--

When Crowley starts crying, I haven’t the slightest idea what to do. He’s never wept in front of me before, and now he’s doubled over with sobs. I can feel this pain, too. I reach out and gingerly lay my hand on his back. That seems to be all the permission he needs. He throws his arms around my waist and holds on as if something were coming to tear him away. I can’t bear to see him like this. “Crowley, darling, please, it’s alright, I know it was just a misunderstanding.” I rub his back and put my free hand on his head, stroking it as I would for an upset child. I don’t know what else to do. I’m at such a loss. I’ve never been good with this sort of thing.

“No,” he chokes between sobs, “It’s not -- just that. It -- It’s -- everything. All -- of it.”

I don’t understand. “Whatever do you mean?”

This prompts a fresh burst of sobs as he continues to bury his face in my stomach. “I -- I mean -- everything. All -- all the -- temptations, and -- and for failing you.”

I stand there silent for a moment, stunned. “My dear boy, you’ve nothing to apologize for. However, if it will make you feel better, I forgive you.” Without removing Crowley’s hands, I work my way over to the couch and sit beside him.

His tears slowly abate, and he looks at the floor. He doesn’t move. He looks and feels tense, as if waiting for a blow to strike. I cup his face in my hands, and his eyes meet mine. He looks scared and ashamed. “Crowley, no matter what happens, I will be here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” He relaxes just the slightest bit. “We’ve been friends for over six thousand years. We helped avert the Apocalypse. This won’t change anything.”

He relaxes, but looks disappointed. I don’t know why. “Thanks, Angel. Guess I’ve been feeling kinda down about the whole thing.” He almost smiles, and I impulsively kiss his forehead. 

My cheeks instantly warm. I can’t believe I just did that. There’s never been any of that sort of affection between us. Crowley’s head snaps up. His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised. It’s not dissimilar to the look he gave me when I admitted to giving away my sword. “I--I apologize,” I stammer, “I don’t know what came over me.”

His face falls and he studies the floor. “Oh. Yeah. ‘Course. Don’t worry about it.” He looks up then and flashes a smile, but I can feel his disappointment. What on earth is he disappointed about? That I didn’t kiss him again? I can’t understand Crowley at the best of times, and now I feel like I might never have known him at all. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

I stand up. “Oh, of course. I’ll leave you to it, then. Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

One corner of his mouth turns up, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks, Angel.”

“Quite welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was almost communication! They almost said what they felt! Sure it took Crowley losing pieces of his mind, but they're close to actually talking to each other! Stay tuned!
> 
> Comments and kudos make my heart soar and inspire me to keep going with the fic! Thanks so much to everyone who's given them so far!


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